


You knew who I was with every step that I ran to Pudú

by orphan_account



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Transformation, Choking, Clairvoyance, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Frottage, Mallory's still under the memory spell, Past harm to an animal, Telekinesis, Vaginal Sex, dream walking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-28 04:49:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21130928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Canon divergence from the interview scene. Instead of manifesting flames, Mallory undergoes a surprising transformation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own.
> 
> This fic was inspired by a picture of a Pudú deer on Tumblr that I thought fit Mallory nicely. I made a meme and everything (see end of fic).

“Don’t be afraid, Mallory. I’m offering you a chance to live."

The rage and terror building in Mallory’s chest explodes. “I said let me go!”

The intensity of her shout, and the force it unleashes are unexpected. Mallory blinks in astonishment as Langdon is blown clear across the room. He looks just as surprised as she is, crumpled on the cobblestone floor.

It doesn’t last long. 

Langdon regains his feet easily and takes a step toward her in the darkness—the candles having been extinguished with her outburst. His stunned expression melts into a snarl, that flawless face assuming the pale guise of a demon. A thing of nightmares. 

He lunges toward her.

_Flee, flee, flee_, Mallory’s brain screams. But she’s frozen, she can’t move. The breath whooshes from her lungs as she tries not to lose control of her bladder.

POP!

Langdon stops mid-attack and looks down at her, confused. _Why does he look like a giant? _Mallory tries to scurry away, but something trips her up and sends her down on her stomach. Her vision is obstructed by a mass of grey. _Is that my dress?! _She manages to free a limb, sees fur, and screams.

_Oh God, oh God, holy shit!_

She’s got hooves.

Mallory wriggles the rest of the way out of her fabric prison and spins in a tight circle, trying to see her body. She catches a glimpse of four stubby legs and reddish-brown fur with spots.

_WHAT IN THE EVERLIVING FUCK—_

A big hand seizes her by the scruff of the neck and gives her a hard shake.

\--

“Stop making that bloody noise,” Michael growls, brows drawing together in frustration. Beady black eyes fix on his face and the squealing stops.

He clucks his tongue in disappointment. _A witch_. _A powerful one, if her transformation is any indication. _

He’d been so careful to eradicate Cordelia’s brood, but evidently one slipped through the cracks.

He frowns. Was she hidden away or cast out? _Or maybe_, a poisonous voice in his head whispers, _she left because she knew she didn’t belong_. _Like you_. Michael squashes that thought before it can take root. Sentiment is for his Ms. Mead. 

“I took you for a screamer, Mallory, but this wasn’t really what I had in mind.”

She’d been so perfect. So conflicted. Practically begging for his corruption.

He sighs. “You lied to me, little Gray. What’s to be done about that?”

For such a small goat—deer? thing, her face is incredibly expressive. Still, Michael’s thankful for his ability to sense intentions. All he’s getting from Mallory right now is panic. There’s no anger at being found out, just confusion and alarm.

_Interesting._

He thinks back to what she said about there being someone buried inside of her. _Could she really not know?_

“You have no idea what you are, do you?” The narrowing of her eyes seems to say "no shit."

A strange sensation like hope unfurls beneath his ribs.

Clearing his throat, Michael gathers the frayed ends of his emotions and makes sure that his mask is back in place.

He’s here as the head of the Cooperative. Mallory’s reveal may have thrown him, but there are appearances to keep up. Spooking the cattle prematurely just won't do. 

Resolved, he scoops an arm under Mallory's belly and cradles her in the crook of his arm. The feisty minx lets out a bleat of discontent at the action and tries to nip at the fabric covering his bicep. “None of that,” he scolds. He can feel her heartbeat going wild against his forearm. Of it’s own accord, his free hand caresses the silky fur between her ears. “Relax, Mallory. You’re safe for now. I imagine you’ll change back eventually.”

\--

Langdon isn’t as comforting as he thinks he is, but the petting is kind of...nice. He’s got beautiful hands; long fingers with short, square nails. She'd noticed them that first night when he told them about the fate of the world. His rings had glittered in the light of the fireplace, throwing a glare across her glasses.

Mallory frowns as much as she’s able to in this form and tries to calm her heartbeat.

_Something bigger is going on here. _

She thinks about seeing Langdon’s other face, and the weird wind she’d conjured, and shivers.

Mistaking the shudder for a chill, Langdon cuddles her closer to his body.

_What a strange man_, Mallory thinks bemusedly, getting a nose full of his intoxicating scent. He’s dangerous, there’s no doubt about that, but she can sense that he means her no harm right now. _He’s too curious_.

Her ears twitch as she hears him say, “let’s get this over with.”

Langdon pushes through the heavy door of his office and strides at a fast clip down the hall to Venable’s rooms.

_Oh, Jesus Christ_.

The last thing Mallory wants to do is face that woman as some kind of animal she could put into a stew.

She squirms, but Langdon keeps a firm hold on her as he knocks on Venable's door. There’s a three second pause before they're given permission to enter.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Mr. Langdon?" Venable asks, hands planted firmly on her desk despite her flustered appearance. "I trust that Mallory gave you no trouble during her interview?" 

If Mallory could snicker, she would. It’s amusing to see the woman who’s made her last eighteen months a living hell flounder for control in her own domain.

Venable clocks her presence then and asks, voice crisp, “_what the hell is that?_ Did you violate the safety of this Outpost by bringing an animal in from the outside?” 

Mallory looks up at Langdon and sees his lips twitch like he wants to show Venable his teeth.

He smiles politely, lips pressed firmly together. “Mallory’s taken ill for the evening and will be staying in my chambers until I can finish her interview. I would hate for the other occupants to colour her testimony.” He pauses for effect, radiating authority. “You can rest easy Ms. Venable, this specimen came with me directly from the Sanctuary. The Cooperative has been experimenting with animal husbandry. I’ve taken this one as my pet. It’s not to be touched.”

Shrewd brown eyes assess the heft of Mallory's haunches as Venable tries to re-establish dominance. “With all due respect, Mr. Langdon, if it’s not irradiated, we should be using it for meat. It’s been ages since anyone’s had a proper meal."

Langdon’s face grows stormy. “It’s not to be touched. Have I made myself clear?” The words are a hiss.

“Crystal." Venable’s eye twitches, telling of either her fear or contempt. 

“Excellent.” The darkness retreats from Langdon’s eyes, storm clouds breaking apart to reveal perfect pools of blue. “Besides, I have another treat for you. A carriage will arrive in a few hours with a gift for each member of the Outpost. I trust you know best how to celebrate the occasion.” 

Langdon communicates Venable’s dismissal with a cool nod of his head and retreats before she can ask any more questions. He heads for the kitchens next.

Mallory’s head is reeling. _A gift from the Sanctuary? _What could it be? Swiss army knives for them to stab each other with?

Langdon chuckles. “It’s a surprise.”

Mallory squints at him again, certain that he's reading her mind.

Langdon sees her eyeing him and smirks. “No need to look so suspicious, Mallory. I can’t hear your pathetic thoughts, I can only sense their general direction.”

Years of being called stupid and pathetic by Coco has Mallory snapping at Langdon’s sleeve again. This time she pinches skin through the material; the bastard doesn’t even have the grace to flinch.

“My, my. What a temper,” Langdon says. “Your assertion that you have no dark places grows less believable by the hour.”

_Oh, blow it out your ass you pompous windbag. _If anyone has a right to be feeling a little dark right now, it’s her—the one wearing the fur fucking coat. 

There are only two Grays working in the Outpost’s version of a kitchen when they arrive. Amy and Martin snap their heads up from where they’re scrubbing the floor as soon as they hear the clicking of Langdon’s boots.

“Grays,” he greets Mallory's peers, ignoring the incredulous looks they dart in her direction. “I won’t be requiring a meal in my quarters this evening. Please re-distribute my rations among yourselves.” 

Mallory thinks he must look like a deranged celebrity housewife, waving his purse dog around and barking orders. _He’s got the hair for it._

Langdon doesn’t linger to see Amy and Martin's faces light up at the prospect of more food. Message delivered, he spins on a heel and takes off the way he came.

His generosity could be interpreted as compassion, but something feels off about the gesture to Mallory. 

He confirms the thought on the way to what she assumes are his private quarters. “He’s been waiting for an excuse to bash her head in, you know?” Langdon tells her. He looks excited by the prospect. “Hunger makes people do terrible things.”

Mallory can only balk in horror at the information. _Martin? A killer? _He’d always been so kind to her. Nausea churns in her gut as they turn the corner to Langdon's suite. What kind of monster manipulates people into killing each other?

Langdon pauses suddenly before entering his room, and chucks her under the muzzle with a knuckle. His fervour has dimmed to something that could be sadness. “In my experience, the most poisonous people hide behind a false smile.” 

\-- 

He’s done the female Gray a mercy, but Michael doubts that Mallory will see it that way. He tells himself that it’s best if she hates him.

Distasteful as it would be, he may still need to kill her.

Michael sets his jaw and makes his way into his rooms with his precious cargo. He needs Mallory to change back. There’s no way to get his answers with her like this.

_I need to know if she’s in league with Cordelia. _

Exhaling his frustration, Michael sets Mallory down on the ground before he can shake her again. He flexes his arms distractedly, muscles feeling strangely bereft without her weight.

Mallory wobbles on her hooves for a moment, unused to four legs, before she gets her footing.

It’s not cute.

It’s not.

“I have some work to do," he tells her. "Try to control the urge to shit on anything. I’d hate to make you clean it up when you turn back.”

\-- 

_Asshole_.

Mallory tilts her head down and runs straight at Langdon’s shins.

Unfortunately, he does something with his hand that has her stopping in her tracks. _Goddamn, magic demon. _She’ll shit in his Louboutin loafers while he’s sleeping. Even evil motherfuckers need their beauty rest.

Put out, Mallory slumps down on her side with a huff and curls her legs underneath her. Satisfied with her defeat, Langdon sits at his desk and starts tapping away on his laptop.

_How the fuck does he even have internet? _

He keeps saying "when you change back," but Mallory has no idea what that means. What is she that she’s able to turn into an animal? And how is he so confident that she’ll revert to her human form?

_Am I a demon too?_

Sure, she’s thought about burning Coco with a flat iron a time or two, but she’d never actually do it. She's not evil.

Or is she? Langdon did say that she was made for his version of the world.

Discomforted, Mallory wiggles around, trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt her joints so badly. Her little legs don’t provide much cushion against the stone floor. 

She gives it up after a few minutes and starts eyeing the bed.

_Maybe I’ll drag my ass across his sheets. _

Standing up, she waggles her bum a few times—body the same size as a house cat—and coils to spring.

Success!

Skipping across the mattress, Mallory trots right up to Langdon’s pillow, identifiable by the long blond hairs he’s left behind, and curls up in a ball. She's not going to sleep, though. She wants to know every time Langdon so much as breathes or scratches his nose. He won't catch her unaware. 

\--

The sun is warm on the top of her head.

Content, she lays back in the soft grass and watches the clouds move across the piercing blue sky. A butterfly floats by, drifting on a light wind. Mallory closes her eyes, enjoying the chance to be outside. If she tries hard enough, she can almost believe she’s somewhere else.

Somewhere without rules; disappointment.

A hiss sounds out beside her. She sighs heavily and opens her eyes. Somewhere without cats would be nice.

“Go away,” she says, but the voice is all wrong. “I don’t like you.”

The cat doesn’t listen. Something’s wrong with it’s eyes. It makes her feel funny; like it’s looking through her.

She waits for it to get close enough and reaches out to snap it’s neck.

\-- 

Mallory jolts awake and lets out a cry of distress. It's not a human noise. _Still a deer thingy then_. The last glimpse of the cat’s body going limp plays on a loop in her head. 

She blinks her eyelids open, wanting to banish the image, and looks directly into Langdon’s expectant face. He’s lying beside her on the bed, curled on his side with a hand under his cheek.

He looks remarkably young like that. 

“Little witch, little witch,” he whispers softly. “You’ve been wandering in your sleep, walking around inside my head.”

_Witch. _Is that what she is? How does he know? 

“I knew what you were the second you manifested your emotions as levitation,” Langdon murmurs. He reaches out and strokes a finger down her nose. “But I still want to keep you, Mallory. You have no idea how frustrating you are.” His voice is gravelly with sleep. Staring at him like this, he looks exhausted. Like he’s been carrying a weight on his shoulders for a long time. 

Mallory’s not sure what possesses her to do it, maybe she feels for sorry him—for the version of him in his memory—but she turns her head and licks his palm.

Langdon’s lips curve upward at the rasp of her tongue. “Tickles.” He pets over her head again and down her back. “You’re much nicer than the cats. They were always scratching me…” His eyelids droop closed and he drifts off to sleep with a soft snore.

His hand is a heavy weight trapping Mallory on the bed. Strangely, she doesn’t mind it. 

\--

The next time Mallory wakes up, it’s immediately apparent that she’s back in her human skin. She blows a strand of brown hair out of her eyes and takes stock of her position. Her head is on Langdon’s chest, body having migrated closer to him in her sleep. His lulling heartbeat thumps under her ear.

_You beautiful, fucked up man_, she thinks, eyeing the sleep loosened planes of his face.

He’s a monster and yet, she can’t hate him right now. Not like this. Not when he’s clutching the ends of her hair as if he wants to leash her to him.

He offered her salvation in his office, but she’ll settle for answers.

Releasing her grip on his clothing, Mallory starts the process disentangling herself. The next thing she knows, she’s on her back with Langdon hovering over her like a great big vulture, awake and aware. _Or is he the spectre of death?_

“You changed back.”

“Clearly.”

A hand clasps Mallory's waist. Her nakedwaist.

_Fuck_. Her spine shoots straight as if she’s been electrocuted. A mix of heat and mortification surges through her body.

Langdon narrows his eyes and parts his lips. “I had no idea skin could be so soft.” He releases his grip on her waist to caresses a line up between her breasts to the base of her throat. His fingers spread and squeeze tightly, constricting her airway.

Mallory can only watch in confusion as Langdon chokes her, hands scrabbling against his chest. He won’t be moved. 

“Are you one of Cordelia’s?” he questions her, eyes blazing. “Are you here to kill me?”

Tears of pain fill Mallory’s eyes. Her lungs burn from the lack of oxygen. “W-what?” she gasps out.

“Cordelia,” Langdon grits, throttling her. “Are. You. One. Of. Hers?”

Mallory kicks out with a leg, but he slides a thigh in between hers, holding her pinned. “Answer me!”

“I’m nobody’s, I don’t know anyone named Cordelia!” she wheezes, terrified that he’ll kill her with little more consideration than he gave that cat in his front yard.

Langdon must sense the truth in her words because he lets up on his hold. He brushes a tear off of her face with his thumb. “Mallory, Mallory, Mallory." He buries his face in her neck, shaking. "I had to know.”

_Is he crying? _Dazed, Mallory reaches for him and pats him on the back.

“You can be _my_ witch," he giggles wetly. "My pet fawn. Forget burning the tree, I’ll grow you new ones to frolic under.” 

_He’s lost it._ He’s actually fucking insane.

“Let me kiss you,” Langdon asks her, eyes still crazed. He doesn’t wait for her answer. He surges forward, pressing his lips against her own. His tongue flicks, deliberate and sensual, seeking entrance. Mallory’s resistance tears like tissue paper. It’s been ages since someone's kissed her or looked at her like she's someone to worship rather than ridicule.

She opens her mouth to Langdon and feels him grind his pelvis, erection hard in his slacks, against her core. His overt aggression is incendiary. Mallory feels like she’s going to burst into flames, skin singing with his touch and every brutal twist of his hips.

A defeated moan slips from her bruised lips when he pulls back.

“Tell me you want this,” Langdon rasps, scraping his teeth over her collarbone. “Or tell me to stop.”

Her response is immediate “I want this." And she does. She might be disgusted with herself later, but the way he’s touching her is making her feel so good.

“You wanted to run from me.” Langdon pants in her ear and twists one of her nipples until she cries out. “You’ll see—” He changes the angle of his thrusts, his zipper pressing against her clit just so. “—see what we can be together.” 

Mallory rocks up into the punishing shoves of his hips and begs. “Please." She’s so close. 

Langdon doesn’t answer. He unzips his slacks and drags the length of his cock out to press against her folds, teasing. The feeling of his damp crown nudging up against her clit drives Mallory wild. She grinds upward, helplessly wetting his shaft. 

The tickle under her pubic bone deepens, body on the verge of orgasm. Her eyes slide shut.

“No, you don’t,” Langdon snaps, drawing her gaze. “You’re going to look at me like you did when I offered you life and you threw it back in my face.” Another brutal thrust. 

“Look at me."

He works between her thighs, shaft gliding over her clit again and again until Mallory comes hard; clenching and spasming between panting breaths.

“Beautiful,” Langdon breathes, looking as if he means it. “How could I not want you for my own? I'll claim you so _she_ can't have you." 

Mallory's not sure what he's talking about, but it hardly matters. The lips of her cunt do their best to hold him to her, grasping weakly at his length with every contraction of her walls. Langdon keeps chasing his pleasure, uncaring if she’s too sensitive to take any more. 

"Mallory. My Mallory." The sigh is either a prayer or an indictment.

Face tight, Langdon crests the edge of his release and stripes her mound with his come. 

\-- 

“Why are you crying?” he asks her later.

Mallory sniffles. “Because I don’t know who I am anymore.” She feels like she’s spiraling out of control. This morning she was a Gray, the lowest of the low, and now she’s some kind of witch who can turn into animals?

Pushing up from his chest, Mallory stares at Langdon's face and tries to ignore the tacky feeling of his come drying between her legs. “You choked me,” she accuses him. “You were going to kill me.”

He cups her cheek, eyes beseeching her to understand; to see. “Hunger makes us do terrible things.” 

Mallory swallows and feels the swollen tissues in her throat ache. “What now?”

“Now you make a choice." Langdon's expression is aloof once again. "A carriage is coming from the Sanctuary tonight. Either you leave with me or you stay.”

She sees the truth in his eyes. He’ll kill her if she stays, out of fear of this Cordelia woman.

He licks his lips, gaze hooded. “I can help you, Mallory. Show you who you really are.” 

“Can I have some time to decide?” 

She winces as his hand spasms against the side of her face. Langdon closes his eyes, the flat line of his mouth resigned. "Of course. You have an hour.”

\-- 

Michael stands in a shadowy alcove and watches the occupants of Outpost 3 gather for Venable’s Halloween fête. He keeps his eyes peeled for a familiar frame among the masked bodies and voluminous skirts. 

A wave of sadness washes over him. He doesn’t want to kill Mallory, but she can’t be allowed to grow into her powers unwatched. The witches could be lying in wait, looking for the perfect moment to spring a trap.

He refuses to look into Cordelia’s eyes as she takes something else from him. _Not her too._

Something bumps into Michael’s calf, rousing him from his depressing thoughts. A wet nose roots at the hem of his pantleg and pushes against his skin. Relief makes him sag.

“Why hello there.” He tilts his head toward the entrance of the bunker. “You going my way?” 

Mallory nips at his ankle, and he smiles with genuine delight.

"Minx." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody squint at this too closely! Uses themes from Snowpiercer. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

“Michael,” Mallory says, voice distant through the helmet of her radiation resistant suit. “What—”

Her almost-lover and co-conspirator to murder—Mallory has no doubt about what’s taking place in the Outpost right now, she’d hidden under a bench in the decontamination room when Venable and Mead unpacked the apples and hatched their plot to poison everyone—holds up a finger, asking for silence.

Michael pushes a button on his side of the carriage and a hissing noise, like air pressurizing, fills the cabin. A green light blinks overhead. 

Satisfied that they're safe from the radiation, Michael peels his helmet and suit off and then helps Mallory with her own. Free of the confining rubber, they both gasp for air not filtered through a respirator. The carriage was only a few feet from the Outpost, but walking in the lead lined suits was cumbrous and slow.

Mallory adjusts the white dress shirt and pants that she’d stolen from Timothy and feels Michael cup her nape. He pulls her in until their foreheads meet. “Say it again,” he commands, smoothing her hair away from her face. His eyes, darker with lust, hold her hostage.

“Say what?” 

“My name,” he rasps, brushing his mouth against her own.

Mallory’s tongue darts out, teasing over both of their bottom lips. “Michael,” she whispers.

Michael groans and presses forward, deepening the contact between their mouths into a kiss. Their tongues twine easily, as if they’ve been doing this for ages. Mallory’s panting by the time he draws back. 

“So many things I want to do to you,” he says, voice a deep rumble. “Now what was it that you wanted to ask?” 

“Pardon?” With effort, Mallory uncrosses her eyes and regains her train of thought. “Oh, I wanted to know how we’re supposed to get to the Sanctuary if you had the horses shot.”

Michael perks up in his seat, pleased to have an opportunity to share his knowledge with her. “There’s a homing system in the carriage, the horses were just for show. With the air lock engaged, the cabin is completely sealed off from the outside and the radiation. We’re breathing recycled oxygen like on an airplane.” 

_Huh_, Mallory thinks, looking around the sleek interior with wonder. That kind of technology is a far cry from the Victorian wet dream that Venable's put so much effort into crafting. _Good riddance_. She's had enough experience with scratchy wool dresses and hair dicks to last a lifetime. “And how long are we going to be traveling?” 

“A few hours. But don’t worry, I have snacks!" Michael says, strangely enthused. Mallory narrows her eyes at the distraction but lets it go. If Michael doesn’t want to tell her where they’re going, that’s fine.

He _could _throw her a bone since she’s being so cool about the whole _leaving everyone to die_ thing, but whatever. She’s not going to fight about it if it means that he’ll give her the bag of pretzels he’s holding in his hand.

A girl's got to have her priorities at the end of the world.

“Gimme those,” she snaps, stealing the whole bag from him. She tears into the package like a wild animal and doesn’t surface until her cheeks are stuffed full of sourdough twists. _Salt! __Fucking salty goodness!_“Sooo good,” she moans, chewing with her mouth open unattractively.

Michael’s look of utter absorption would be creepy if Mallory didn’t already know that he has a few screws loose. His expression is half longing and half dark possession.

She chews extra loud and makes sure to belch after she swallows. _This is what you saddled yourself with, crazy._

The carriage starts to move.

Michael settles back in his seat and steeples his hands under his chin like a sexy Mr. Burns. “Since you’ve made the decision to stay with me you should know a few details. I want to make it clear that you’re free to exit the carriage at any time and take your chances with the cannibals.” He pauses for effect.

Mallory blinks at him balefully, unimpressed.

He studies her expression from under his lashes. When she starts twitching with impatience he says, “I’m the Antichrist, Mallory. My father is the devil and my mother was an unfortunate woman who fucked a ghost. With the help of The Cooperative I orchestrated the apocalypse.” 

Mallory stares at him, dumbfounded. “Oh, is that all?” Her tone could peel paint.

\--

**3 hours later.**

“So, you’re telling me that you wanted to be BFFs with the witches, they rejected your friendship bracelet, burned your foster-mother at the stake and hatched some plot to stop you from ending the world?”

“That’s correct.”

Mallory rubs her temples and blows out a breath. It's a lot to take in. They've already hashed out Why Michael has Issues Volumes I & II. "Wretched fuck, approach with caution" should really be tattooed on him somewhere. He has enough mommy issues to fill a neo-Nazi convention.

The one thing Mallory can't work out is how she fits into all of this. Did the other witches really not know about her?

“Do you think it was Cordelia who bound my powers?”

Michael works his jaw, avoiding her eyes. “No. You said that you were adopted. You probably come from a magical family. It’s likely that they bound your powers to keep you safe. Fate and circumstance brought us together. Your magic is manifesting now because you needed it. It’s instinctual. You felt threatened by me, so it reacted.”

“Can you remove what they’ve done?” she asks, brain spinning again.

Michael looks constipated. “Yes.”

“But you don’t want to.”

It’s not hard to deduce from his body language. His arms are crossed over his chest, wrinkling his suit, and the muscle in his jaw hasn't stopped twitching since they started this conversation. 

“No.”

Mallory thinks about what it might be like to have a part of herself restored and feels her chest ache with want. She’s tired of feeling off-center. “Please. I thought you wanted to teach me?”

Michael squints at her. “Fine. But I’m still the one in charge here. If I give you commands, you have to obey.” Mallory nods her acceptance of his terms gravely. It’s not a lie. She fully intends to obey the letter of his laws. The spirit is another matter entirely.

Michael considers her, assessing and, sensing no untruth, presses a palm to the middle of her chest.

At first, Mallory thinks that he’s going for a grope of confidence, but then something flares under her breastbone. Ropes that she’d never noticed—threaded through her ribs and into her spine—snap. 

She feels hollowed out for the space of a moment before a strange warmth fills her. _Is that my magic? _It’s like a living thing, breathing with her and stretching into place after being tucked away for so long. Her third eye blinks open, illuminating the carriage in a riot of colours. Michael is a black spot in the vortex. 

_The absence of light is black_, she thinks. But then he smiles at her, face radiant with pleasure at her concentration on him, and she remembers that when you mix all of the colours of the rainbow the result is the same. 

\-- 

Mallory’s excitement about her magic is stunning. Michael pats himself on the back for a job well done and internally vows to never tell her about the memory spell that he’s left in place. _If she doesn’t ask, why bring it up?_

There's no mistaking that magical signature. He’s certain that if he pulls that last thread all sorts of bad things from the past will come spilling out. _Fuck you, Cordelia_. _You can’t have her. She’s mine_. 

Mallory may have been placed in the Outpost strategically, a mongoose under the house, but she’s made the wise decision to join him. Cordelia and the other witch bitches would never have bent the knee.

Those are his bruises decorating Mallory's throat and it’s his magic that’s set her free.

Finders keepers, and all that. The Supreme should be more careful about where she stashes her valuables.

\--

**4 hours later.**

“There better be a fucking bathroom around when we get to the Sanctuary or I’m going to explode and soak the whole place with pee,” Mallory says, squirming around in her seat.

Michael looks at her curiously. “I peed my pants hours ago. You shouldn’t hold your bladder, Mallory. It’s not natural.”

The silence in the carriage is deafening.

Mallory stares at him, incredulous. He genuinely has no shame about whizzing in what was probably a $6000 suit. She wants to be disgusted, but it's hard to discount the fact that Michael lived like a feral raccoon in a haunted house after his grandmother died. 

_Fuck _it, she thinks. _These aren’t even my clothes. _

Mallory closes her eyes and thinks about anything but what she’s about to do. _Dignity? Don't know her_.

The relief is immediate.

“There. Isn’t that better?” 

“Shut up and pass me the Girl Guide cookies.”

\-- 

**6 hours later.**

The carriage comes to an abrupt halt, jolting Mallory and Michael awake. They'd finally fallen asleep after the twentieth round of I-Spy.

Mallory's tired, she’s cranky and her pants are still soaked with piss. This stop had better mean that they’ve arrived or she’s going to go Mad Max on some mutant's ass.

Michael sits forward excitedly, peering out the window and says, “we’re here!” 

He pushes the button to disengage the air lock and door seal and pours himself out of the carriage with unnatural grace. 

Mallory chances a look out the open door and sees sunshine and green grass. _Holy shit_.

Throwing her body forward, she stumbles out into the light and drops herself down on the ground in amazement. She fists her hands in the lush grass and feels her magic reach out to follow each shoot down to it's root system. _Oh my God_. Mallory’s eyes grow wide. It’s actually growing. There’s no contamination. 

A shadow falls over her. 

Michael chuckles lowly, drawing her gaze up to his face. “Welcome to the Sanctuary, Mallory. It’s a pocket dimension almost identical to Earth.” He spreads his hands out wide. “You can go anywhere under the dome, just stay back from the border. Sometimes the protective wards have trouble differentiating between friendlies and hostiles.”

Mallory looks around and sees the shimmering barrier he’s talking about. It runs high overhead and spreads as far as the eye can see. Rolling pasture gives way to a gigantic castle and beyond that, a vast lake and forest lie in wait.

“Michael, is the Sanctuary a replica of Hogwarts?” 

“…Maybe.”

Mallory falls on her back and laughs until her chest burns with the effort.

Michael looks concerned.

\-- 

Mallory’s surprised to see Ms. Mead—who is, as she found out on their journey, a robotic replica of Michael’s foster-mother—at the edge of the field.

“The Ms. Mead you met at the Outpost was always intended to die there. I’ve had several versions commissioned over the years,” Michael explains.

As they draw closer, Robot Mead bounces on her toes excitedly and waves. “My, boy! You’re home!”

Michael runs the remaining distance to her and accepts what looks like a firm hug.

“Mother,” he says, drawing back and gesturing to Mallory's approaching form. “This is Mallory. She’s my guest.”

Familiar blue eyes squint at Mallory from underneath black eyebrows. “You a witch? He’s always had a thing for witches.”

Mallory gulps, remembering what Michael told her about Cordelia burning the real Mead at the stake. “Apparently. Michael’s promised to teach me how to use my powers.” 

Mead sniffs. “That’ll be something to watch. It took him two weeks to learn how to make toast without burning it.”

“Hey!” Michael whines. “Watch it or I’ll have your hard drive wiped.”

Mead smiles and pinches his cheek. “No, you won’t.”

As they continue on toward the castle, Mead flares her nostrils, smelling the air. “Does it smell like piss out here, or is it just me?”

\--

The castle may look like Hogwarts from the outside, but on the inside it’s a high-tech compound filled with labs and scientists in white coats experimenting with gene splicing and reproduction. 

While he’s escorting her down the main corridors, Michael explains to Mallory that the nuclear bombs were a part of a bigger plan to counteract global warming. In a few months, a deep freeze will set in, killing off the mutated people who survived the blast and re-setting the planet’s temperature. The Cooperative—_the fucking Illuminati_—plan to wait out the winter in their simulated patch of Scottish Highlands until things start to thaw. 

“Honestly, Mallory,” Michael says, drawing to a stop outside of one of the labs. “My father gets a bad rap, but he intervened when your God was content to sit back and let you all suffer the effects of food shortages and disease. The cleansing fire of a nuclear holocaust accomplished what years of research and climate summits could not: an effective solution for extending life on Earth.”

Mallory hears what he’s saying, but it’s hard to wrap her mind around all of the death and destruction he’s unleashed. She frowns, clenching her fists at her sides. Someone has to be angry for humanity. “All of those people didn’t deserve to die.” 

The Antichrist tips his head toward her and purses his lips. “I can’t comment on their worthiness to live, but there is meaning in their sacrifice. Some of their DNA will even be a part of the new generation born in this lab.”

Michael moves closer and cups her face. “Don’t ask me to be sorry, Mallory. I’m not capable of it.” 

Mallory deflates. _He’s right_.

Michael can’t assume her point of view any more than she can assume his. He has no understanding of compassion because he’s never experienced it. Still, a show of resistance is in order. 

“I don’t believe that the Devil ended the world for a good cause,” she mutters, head hurting worse than when she’d last done tequila shooters. “What’s in it for him?” 

Michael grazes the back of his fingers along her jawline and shrugs. “Heaven’s notoriously hard to get into. All of those souls had to go somewhere.” 

Mallory trembles. From the touch of his hand to her collarbone or the thought of billions of people being tortured in Hell, she’s not certain.

Michael presses a kiss to her forehead and leans back, clasping her arms. “I know what will cheer you up! After we shower, I’ll take you to meet Attenborough. He’ll be able to tell us what kind of animal you are.” 

“David Attenborough’s a member of the Illuminati?” Her tone holds a hint of disbelief.

Michael snorts. “Of course, he’s been wanting to get rid of people for years. He’s got big plans for the new animal population. We may need to reign him in before he convinces the nerds to clone a dinosaur.”

\-- 

Michael’s loath to leave Mallory, but they really do need to shower and get on with the rest of the tour before brunch is served in the dining hall.

Chef Ramsay’s making French toast—Ms. Mead’s recipe—in celebration of his return.

Hand firmly planted at the small of her back, Michael steers Mallory up a staircase to the residential level and down a hallway decorated with paintings from the Louvre and the Met. He pulls them to a stop in front of a set of double doors and pushes one side open to reveal a large room done in tasteful creams and blues with an attached bath. 

“This will be your suite,” he says ushering Mallory through the doorway. They make it two steps inside before she goes rigid, eyes fixated on the four-poster bed in the corner. He’d been very specific in his email to Bobby about the design. “Do you not like it?” he asks, furrowing his brows. 

Mallory’s mouth opens and closes, no sound coming out. “Its—the posts are trees.” Her lower lip wobbles, eyes suddenly threatening tears. “You said you’d grow me trees.” Her voice breaks on a sob. 

Alarmed, Michael can only watch as Mallory turns and buries her tear-streaked face in his chest. Her back heaves violently with her crying, shaking her small form. _Unacceptable_.

“I’ll skull-fuck Berk and desecrate his corpse,” he promises, petting her hair. “You’ll get a new bed, a better bed.” 

Mallory lifts her head and wipes at her eyes with a small hand. “What? N-no, Michael. I love it. It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me. A-and you’re the son of the devil,” she hiccups, sobbing harder. 

Michael’s baffled. He doesn’t understand how something that pleases her could also be making her cry. “There, there." He pats her on the back clumsily. He’s never had to console a crying person. “If this is your response to the bed you may not want to see the bathroom.” 

\--

Mallory’s overwhelmed. She could crawl into that bed and stay there for a few days, but there are matters to attend to. Item number one is getting out of her piss-soaked clothes and taking a shower.

When her crying jag dies down to the occasional sniffle, Michael leads her into the bathroom and shows her how to turn on the massive rainfall shower heads.

He undresses her with casual efficiency as the bathroom fills with warmth and steam. Mallory’s rapt as his ringed fingers undo the buttons on her stolen shirt and unzip her pants. His manner is awfully confident for someone she's only fooled around with once. 

She remembers the desperate way that Michael rutted between her thighs at the Outpost and feels a coil of excitement heat in her belly. _Down girl_. Talk about emotional whiplash. She needs a shower, not a tongue bath. _Although…_

The fabric drops to the floor and Mallory steps out of the pile, her body bared completely to Michael’s gaze.

He looks _reverent._

“Tan has filled your closets with garments,” he murmurs distractedly. Shivering, Mallory watches as he reaches out a hand to clasp her hip. His ringed thumb stretches over until it reaches her mound, the tip of his finger brushing the edge of her brown curls.

She bites back a moan. “There’s more than one closet?”

“Naturally.”

Michael drags his thumb lower, hovering just over her clit but not quite touching. Mallory feels her sex bloom for him, folds flaring hungrily. Michael’s eyelids grow heavy. He gives a curt nod as if she’s pleased him. Mallory’s cheeks heat with embarrassment. _God. _How does he even find her appealing right now? She smells ripe and not in a good way.

“Do you want to join me?” she blurts out. 

The question seems to wake him from his daze. Slowly, reluctantly, Michael releases her. “If I get into that shower with you no one’s getting clean."

He presses a lingering kiss to her head and leaves, beating a hasty retreat to the door and across the hall to his own rooms.

Deprived of his hands and his thrall look, sanity resumes. Mallory heaves a sigh of frustration. _Crazy must be catching_. She’s never been this out of control emotionally.

After months of tepid dips under a faucet in the Outpost, the water pressure and heat of the rain shower feel heavenly.

Scrubbed pink and clean, Mallory’s presented with a dilemma. Does she dress now and head out on two legs or transform and wear her fur coat around?If she's honest with herself, she's afraid to see what couture monstrosities are hiding in those closets Michael was talking about. _He did say we're going to meet Attenborough._

She’s only done the change on purpose once, but she found that visualization helped. Closing her eyes, Mallory pictures her other form and thinks, _small, small, small_.

That familiar pop sounds and she’s back on four hooves. _Fuck yes! _

Mallory kicks her back legs out in excitement and marvels at how big the bathroom looks now. _There are so many places I could hide. _She makes a note to investigate the space between the wall and the vanity later.

Trotting toward the door to her rooms, Mallory sees that Michael failed to fully latch the door on his way out. It’s easy to slip through the space between the door and the frame and out into the hall.

Standing outside of Michael’s room, Mallory tries to raise a hoof to scratch at the wood of the door and nearly falls over on her face. _Okay then_. _Let’s try something different. _Taking a deep breath, she fills her little lungs nearly to bursting and pushes the air out, making the high-pitched wailing noise that Michael hates so much.

_Three. Two. One. _The door flies open with a bang. 

Michael emerges, eyes wild as he stalks up to her. “Stop that,” he snarls, picking her up off the floor. The damp ends of his hair curl against the lapels of his tailored black coat. Black pants and leather shoes complete the look. Mallory licks over the ruby on his left ring finger and nuzzles his hand in apology for bruising his ear drums. 

“Needy creature,” he scolds, clutching her close. “If you insist on being lazy then I guess I’ll have to carry you. I’m not missing French toast because you can’t keep up.”

Mallory gives him a judging look. _He’s so full of shit. _Michael looks downright giddy at the prospect of parading around with her under his arm. _Might as well slap my ass and call me Giggy Vanderpump._

\--

Nothing could have prepared Mallory for meeting David Attenborough. They find him in the dining hall sitting among a bunch of scientists and talking animatedly about the time he followed a pride of lions across Serengeti National Park in Tanzania. 

With his white hair and ruddy cheeks, he could pass for a mall Santa. It’s hard to believe that someone so jolly looking was on board with The Cooperative’s Thanos-esque plan to nuke the planet.

“Ah, Mr. Langdon,” Attenborough greets as he catches sight of Michael. “Good to have you back. I was just telling young Mr. Tanner,” he gestures to the willowy looking kid with flame red-hair next to him, “all about my vision for the southern plains of the Serengeti. We really should discuss the merits of introducing more apex predators to the ecosystem.” 

Michael’s arm tenses around Mallory. His blue eyes are forbidding. “You’re not getting Dinosaurs, Attenborough. Let it go.”

“What a load of tosh. You’re absolutely no fun.” Attenborough's accent makes the words extra hilarious. Michael’s sour face is the cherry on top. 

Mallory sneezes suddenly and the natural historian's eyes fall on her. “Well I’ll say!” His face lights up as he rises and hurries over to them. “Mr. Tanner,” he calls for his companion, “come quick boy and observe.” He turns to Michael. “Put it down on the floor for us Mr. Langdon so we can have a look.”

Michael grimaces but does as he asks. Mallory stands in front of Attenborough and the small audience they’ve attracted and tries not to cower. The urge to hide behind Michael’s legs is strong.

“Where in this wasteland did you find a juvenile Pudú?” The old man’s eyes twinkle with delight. 

“This is Mallory,” Michael tells him, drifting closer to her. “She’s my guest here. Her ability to take this form was unexpected—”

Mallory chuffs, rolling her liquid black eyes. _Understatement of the year_. 

Attenborough is thoroughly charmed by her noises. “Just marvelous,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mallory.” Mr. Tanner peers over his shoulder curiously. “She’s so fluffy! Can I pet her?” 

Michael’s head whips up from where he’s gazing adoringly at the spots along her back. He snatches her up in his grip again and cuddles her into his chest. “Don’t get any ideas, Casper. She’s not to be touched." He bares his teeth threateningly. "Anyone caught violating the no-touching rule will be massacred. No exceptions."

The young scientist gulps. “It’s Carl, Sir.”

“What was that, Casper?” Michael's face flashes white and horrifying.

Tanner shudders in his lab coat. “Nothing, Sir. No touching, understood.” 

Mallory nips at the fingers that are still crushing her into Michael’s ribs, distracting him before he makes the kid shit his pants. Michael gives her a sheepish look and relaxes his hold. “I apologize, pet.” Directing his gaze at Attenborough he asks, “if she’s not fully grown, how much bigger can we expect her to grow?”

“That is a difficult question, my liege,” Attenborough says, stroking his chin consideringly. “If this is a magical transformation, I suspect she took this form for a reason. Assuming the guise of the young and _fluffy,_” he raises a wry brow at Tanner, “could lessen the chance of attack from a predator.”

Michael tries to school his expression into something neutral, but Mallory can tell that he’s thrilled that she won’t be getting any bigger. She silently curses his grandmother for not letting him play with dolls and resigns herself to being picked up and coddled any time she’s in this skin. 

The rest of breakfast passes uneventfully. If you can call being hand-fed French toast by the Antichrist at a table across from Lupita Nyong’o, Lizzo, two scientists from CERN, the molecular biologist who discovered CRISPR gene editing technology, Ricky Martin and his family and Michael Caine uneventful. 

Michael may have said that he was looking for morally corrupt people to repopulate the earth, but Mallory’s beginning to suspect that was a ruse to incite poor behaviour at the Outpost. The bastard wanted them to fight for his amusement_. We were a box full of insects for him to study. __He just couldn’t resist shaking things up. _

If she didn’t want him to teach her about her magic so badly, she really would leave some Glossette sized turds in his shoes.

After breakfast, Michael finishes showing her the rest of the sprawling compound and takes her out to see the bridge and the Black Lake. He didn’t include the Giant Squid when he constructed this dimension so he’s happy to let her walk along the shore and dip her hooves in the water. 

“We might as well start your lessons now,” he says, bending down to pick up a rock. “Change back for me, Mallory.” The rock in his hand seems to melt, becoming fluid and solidifying into a long black dress. 

Mallory angles herself so that Michael’s bulk is shielding her from the windows of the castle and springs back up onto two legs. She shivers, nipples stiffening in the light wind coming off of the lake.

Michael’s piercing eyes sweep over her and he gets that dark, hungry look again. Mallory squeezes her thighs together, wishing, not for the first time, that he wasn’t so devastatingly attractive.

Michael crosses the distance between them and helps her step into the dress. He runs his finger up the centre of her spine as he raises the zipper, filling her with dizzying heat. Mallory assures herself that exhaustion is to blame for her nymphomania. _I’m not even into exhibition_, she thinks, trying to control the urge to throw Michael down with levitation and sit on his face. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” he whispers in her ear, breath raising goose-bumps on the side of her neck. “I’ll show you everything I know if you teach me how to become an animal too.” 

Mallory cranes her neck to look at him over her shoulder. “You don’t know how?” 

Michael’s plush lips thin.“I didn’t even know it was possible until you transformed yesterday. The education the warlocks offered me was limited. I had to learn the Seven Wonders from text books,” he spits. 

“I’ll try my best, but I’m not really sure of the mechanics,” Mallory says with a shrug. “It’s just something that I can do.”

Michael's lips press to the join between her neck and shoulder. “I’ll be a good student, pet.” Mallory’s legs grow weak and she leans back against his chest for support. _Jesus Christ_.

\--

Michael’s getting irritated. Mallory’s excelling at every skill he shows her, but he still hasn’t managed to do more than change the colour of his hair. Just a few moments ago she froze the whole lake with Stiricidium and changed two sticks into a pair of ice skates. _This is getting embarrassing_.

He’s doing everything that she asks, meditating, visualising the form that he wants to take, but nothing’s happening. Mallory’s gentle attempts to soothe his temper aren’t helping. If he has to hear her say "you’re doing great," one more time, he’s going to burn the whole fucking forest to the ground.

Swearing angrily, Michael rises out of the lotus position he's folded himself into and transmutes to the middle of the covered bridge. He tightens his hands around the rail, peering down at the water—liquid again—and imagines that it’s somebody’s neck he’s wringing. 

There’s a disturbance in the air behind him and then Mallory’s there, pushing those lovely little breasts into his back and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“You’re pouting,” she murmurs into the fabric of his jacket. “You need to lighten up.”

Michael’s brows draw tight. “Lighten up?” he hisses. He turns around in the circle of her arms and grabs her around the waist, hoisting her up to sit on the railing. It’s no effort since she’s nearly half his size. Mallory proves herself to be a good girl and parts her legs for him when he pushes between her thighs.

Without warning, Michael shoves her dress up over her hips and admires the rosy flush of her cunt in the mid-morning air. How silly of him, forgetting to transfigure her some underwear. _A delicious oversight_. “Do you enjoy making a fool of me?” he asks in a deceptively soft voice. 

Michael watches Mallory balk and shiver at being so exposed where anyone could see and smirks. “Answer me,” he barks, landing a harsh slap against her slit. His wicked girl moans in surprise and bucks her hips for another.

“N-no, Michael,” she gasps, holding onto the railing for dear life. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I think you like seeing me fail,” he says, meeting her doe eyes and letting a nasty sneer curl his lips. “You like seeing me suffer. After everything I’ve done for you…” Another slap, this time his palm glances across her clit. 

“Michael!” _Slap_. She’s dripping now, drenching his hand. “What are you—" 

_Slap_. Mallory writhes in agony, arching up with a cry. The sound is a balm to his ears. 

“You’ve been a naughty girl, Mallory. I think you need to be punished.” He parts the lips of her sex with his fingers and stares at the shadowy dip of her opening. “I would kill someone to fuck you,” he tells her. Arousal leaks from her hole under his watchful gaze and rolls down between the cheeks of her ass. Michael groans. “So beautiful.” 

He rims her entrance with a fingertip, teasing until she whines for more. The first push of his finger inside of her has a growl breaking from his chest. “So fucking tight,” he grits, “look at how hard you’re squeezing me.” In demonstration, he tries to withdraw his finger and can’t. He’s locked in the vise of her velvety walls. Michael pumps his hand in reward and sees Mallory’s head fall back, her eyelids fighting to stay open.

“More,” she begs, voice breathy. “Please.”

She relaxes enough for him to pull out to his second knuckle and he dives back inside with two fingers. Mallory goes wild, hips bucking and nipples straining against the fabric of her dress. It’s not enough. He wants her maddened. “Play with your tits,” he tells her. “You’re not allowed to come until I tell you.” 

Mallory's hands fly to her chest, cupping her little mounds through the black lace and reaching inside of her neckline to pluck the stiff peaks of her nipples. “Good girl,” Michael pants, giving her more swift pumps of his hand. He spreads his fingers inside of her, scissoring against her walls and circles the area around her clit with his thumb. He doesn’t give her the pressure she needs to get off though.

“Touch me, Michael! Please,” Mallory begs. “I’m sorry I’m better at transformation than you!”

Michael’s face heats with anger at her shout. “Little witch!” He pulls his fingers out of her, ignoring her cry of protest, and rips at the front of his pants until his cock springs free. He’s rock hard and aching for her. There’s never been a more erotic site than his pet spread open for him, kneading her tits and yowling like a kitten.

Michael butts the crown of his cock up against her hole and chuckles darkly when she jolts at the sensation. Tightening the hand still on her waist, he presses forward, entering her with a brutal thrust.

Mallory mewls, twisting her nipples harder. Michael’s mouth waters. He’ll have to investigate her openness to nipple torture later. “That’s it, pet,” he says, feeling her roll into his thrusts, “take it.” He fucks her hard, sending his cock deep and upward, aiming for her g-spot on every push forward. Mallory takes his cock like she was made for it, melting and quivering around him.

Michael’s rolling on a wave of pleasure, but he’s not too lost to recognize when she’s on the verge of orgasm. He feels Mallory’s walls contract around him, her limbs starting to go slack and grates, “ask me. Ask permission.” 

“_Please!_” she wails, uncaring of her volume, “make me come!”

Michael thrusts furiously, plundering her tender flesh with his engorged shaft. _Fuck. Fuck! _He’s ascending, imagining how it’s going to feel to fill her with his come.

“Come now, pet,” he commands, stroking the sensitive nub of her clit with his thumb. “Soak my cock.” And she does. Mallory comes with violent spasms that wring Michael’s release from him. He paints the walls of her fluttering cunt with an expression of awe on his face and a possessive exclamation on his tongue. “Mine!” he growls, giving one last thrust of victory. 

Needing to be connected in every sense of the word, Michael seizes her face in his hands and takes her mouth in a deep kiss. He slips into her mind as he sweeps his tongue into her mouth and tells her again, _I claimed you, __you’re mine_. 

\-- 

Michael sits on the floor of the bridge, cradling Mallory in his lap. He cups the back of her head and presses sweet kisses to her hairline. 

Mallory lets herself go limp as a noodle against him and focuses on regaining her breath. _Holy shit. _He rearranged her guts and fucked her brains out in one fell swoop.

“I guess we’ll keep practicing tomorrow,” she says, still shattered. “You wore me out.”

A horrifying thought dances through her brain. “I’m not on birth control.” Her voice is numb, dissociated. She can’t get pregnant. _Not now_. She’s not interested in raising a child during a nuclear winter.

“Calm down,” Michael exhales, feeling her breathing quicken with distress. “There’s a whole ritual involved in order for me to help conceive a child.”

At her look of disbelief, he says, “my father can’t have a bunch of little demons running around unchecked. I might try to mutiny.”

There's logic in his words, but it's cringey to think that he needs to ask permission to reproduce.

Mallory sighs and buries her face in his neck. “I think I need a nap.” It’s been an emotionally fraught twenty-four hours. She needs to sleep before she starts crying again.

Michael clasps her tight. “As my lazy, pet insists.” He transmutes them to her room and curls up with her in the middle of the huge bed, her head on his chest.

Mallory falls asleep to the sensation of him combing through her hair with his fingers.

\--

One week later, Michael still hasn’t managed the change. 

There have been times when he’s manifested a hilariously placed horn or a tail, put it never lasts long.

Mallory, on the other hand, has accomplished all Seven Wonders, and is growing stronger every day. 

Michael's being incredibly bitchy about it. Two days ago, he accused her of sabotaging him and suggested that she blow him in recompense for her misdeeds. 

In response, Mallory socked him in the face and locked herself in her room, fingering herself loudly for Michael to hear. The asshole couldn’t take a hint. He stood outside the door hollering for her to let him in and when she refused, he left a crude drawing of a heart, painted with his blood and jizz, on the door. 

Needless to say, Mallory’s been ignoring him. She's taken to skulking around in her pudú form to avoid detection. 

As she'd anticipated, Michael hasn't taken her rejection well. 

His ridiculous attempts to lure her out include yelling at the top of his lungs, putting up lost pet posters, 

and whatever this is… 

Currently, Michael’s lying on his stomach under a table in the deserted dining hall—dinner isn’t for a few hours yet—with a butterfly net clutched in his hand. 

A trail of M&Ms lead from the middle of the room all the way up to the door of her bedroom.

Mallory’s been watching from behind a potted plant for half an hour when she sees Mr. Tanner come wandering in, a smile on his face as he picks up another piece of candy. _Oh, Casper. No._

She sticks her little tongue out with a mixture of apprehension and glee. Michael hates Tanner.

As she watches, the young scientist reaches the last M&M and cocks his head in confusion. “Mr. Langdon? What are you doing down there?”

Michael cracks a sleepy blue eye open, he’d fallen asleep ten minutes ago, and glares blearily at Tanner. “Mind your own Goddamn business, Casper,” he snaps, “and don’t disturb the candy.”

Tanner pales. Mallory hopes he doesn’t faint. “I-it’s still Carl, Sir. And uh, about the candy…was it for something important?”

“You idiot!” Michael shouts, banging his head on the underside of the table in his hurry to stand up. “She’s probably gotten away!” Michael whips his head around, searching for any sign of her. Mallory almost feels sorry about the verbal filleting Tanner’s about to receive. 

“Oh, Ms. Mallory, Sir? She’s hiding behind that plant over there.” Tanner points in her direction. 

_The nerd can burn._

Mallory feels Michael’s eyes lock on her and wiggles her bum in preparation for take-off. She’ll have to be quick; he’s getting better at sprinting short distances. 

“Mallory,” Michael bellows, “do not run!” 

She takes off at a gallop, charging past the rows of tables and chairs and skids out into the hallway. A hard right turn takes her into the atrium.

Michael’s hot on her hooves. _Who knew Louboutin shoes could be so good for running?_

Leaves from various plants bash her muzzle and rake her back as she kicks up loose soil. Up ahead, Mallory spies a tree with a hollow large enough for her to wedge herself into. 

There’s a popping sound. Mallory’s ears twitch with alarm. _Did the bastard actually manage the change?_

The hair stands up along her spine, she cries out, feeling like cornered prey. Something’s coming up fast on her hind end. She can hear the plants rustling as it barrels toward her. _Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look_. 

Impact. 

She's taken off of her feet and sent sprawling on her side.

Mallory huffs with panic, nostrils flaring wide. Two red eyes stare down at her from either side of a wide, flat head. The massive snake in front of her forks it’s tongue out, tasting the air. 

Left with no other option, Mallory changes back and scrunches her nose at the feeling of dirt in her ass-crack.

“Michael, you silly ass!” she shouts, “that’s a female anaconda.” She can’t help but laugh as he rears back on his coils and turns his head, inspecting the colour of his scales and his size.

“This says so much about your mommy issues."

_Fuck off, Mallory_, rings loud and clear in her head. Crowing with laughter, she falls over on her back and feels her body shake with mirth. It feels good to laugh after a tense few days. If Michael's sulking continued much longer, she was prepared to bash him over the head and donate him to one of the labs for experimentation.

Even Mead was tired of his whining! She’d come to Mallory last night begging for her to start talking to Michael again before he collapsed the Sanctuary in a fit of rage.

Mallory’s guffaws quiet down as Michael slithers over and stretches himself out beside her. “You better not be sizing me up to eat,” she says, darting a glance at him from the corner of her eye.

He’s back in his human form between one blink and the next. A wide smile breaks out over his face. Mallory’s breath catches in her throat. _Stupid __motherfucker looks like a feat of architectural engineering. It’s unfair to us mere mortals._

Michael's grin turns wolfish. “The only eating I plan on doing is with your thighs around my head, wench.” Quick as a flash he reaches out and flips her over onto her stomach. Those big hands seize her soft skin and pull her hips up into the air. “But first,” Michael says, giving her a loud slap on the ass, “I’m going to rut you in the dirt like the feral little minx you are.” He grinds his erection against her ass cheek and lets out a groan of approval at the way she cants her hips into the movement. 

The control Michael wields over her body sends Mallory spiraling into arousal. Still, she’s going to make him work for it. 

“You can try,” she sasses, sending a hard elbow into his gut. She’s off then, sprinting through the plants and flowers naked, giggling with abandon.

Its only a matter of time until he catches her.

She can’t wait.

\--

Carl finally plucks up the courage to leave the dining hall and sees Mr. Attenborough standing in the middle of the hallway with a hand cupped around his ear. There’s a funny smile on his face. 

“What’s going on?” 

That’s when he hears it: “Oh! Yes, fuck. Right there!” 

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes from the atrium. 

Carl's cheeks heat with embarrassment. He pulls at the starched collar of his shirt in discomfort. “What is that?”

“A mating display,” Attenborough says with excitement. 

The noise increases. There’s a bass grunting now too. A woman screams. _Ms. Mallory?_

“That sounds violent, should we check on them?” He takes a cautious step forward and feels Mr. Attenborough fist a hand in the back of his shirt. 

“Best not, Mr. Tanner. You should probably come with me if you wish to live to see another day.”


End file.
